


The 245th Hunger Games

by PenAndPaperGirl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenAndPaperGirl/pseuds/PenAndPaperGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been approximately 170 years after the rebellion in which the Girl On Fire had participated in - in which she succeeded in overpowering the Capitol. After her death, when age took her, everything went back to being in the Capitol's control. Jerome Jaha was elected President by the citizens of Panem, and having the power, one of his first proclamations was to bring back the Hunger Games. After his death, his son, Thelonious Jaha, took over as President and continued the Games. Now, 100 kids from between the ages of 12 to 18 are chosen through a process called a 'reaping', where they will participate in a televised death match against one another until 24 remaining tributes are alive to be crowned the winners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this idea while I was in English, reading The Hunger Games. No hate, I'm literally just making this up as I go. Also, there will be very similar stuffs from The Hunger Games in this fic, and I honestly don't own anything except for the plot.

**_"In penance for their uprising, each district -including the people of the Capital- shall offer up three girls and four boys between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public 'reaping' every year. But because of their Victors and because of their rebellion, District 12 and 13 shall offer up another female tribute. These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol and then transferred into a public arena, where they will fight to the death until 24 victors remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as "The Hunger Games."_ **

*************************

It has been approximately 170 years after the rebellion in which The Girl On Fire had participated in - in which she succeeded in overpowering the Capitol. After her death, when age took her, everything went back to being in the Capitol's control.

Jerome Jaha was elected President by the citizens of Panem, and having the power, one of his first proclamations was to bring back the Hunger Games. After his death, his son, Thelonious Jaha, took over as President and continued the proclamation, where the Games carry on.

Now, 100 kids from between the ages of 12 to 18 are chosen through a process called a 'reaping', where they will participate in a televised death match against one another until only twenty-four tributes are alive to be crowned the winners.

*************************

**District 2: Clarke Griffin**

"Stay still." My mother ordered softly as she brushed the knots out of my hair.

I sighed, allowing her to continue, my eyes trained onto the sketchbook in my hand. "Mom?" I spoke up after a while, my hand frozen in the air with the black chalk held between my index finger and my thumb.

"Hmm?"

"The Games.... do you think I'll get reaped?" I asked, refusing to look up. I knew my mother was watching me through the reflection of the mirror, probably wondering why I would ask her such a thing. I gulped, licking my dried lips. "It's just that, well, my name's already in there five times. In two days, it'll be in there six times. Do you think there'll be a chance that I-"

"No." She interrupted, "You won't. I'm sure of it." She stood up, pushing back the chair as she gently put the brush down in front of me. "I'll go make dinner. Anything you want specifically?"

I shake my head, "No."

"Okay." She kissed the top of my head, before turning around to walk out of my room. I watched her back as she walked away, confused and slightly curious. 

She seemed so confident that I wouldn't get reaped, but I knew she was scared. She was scared that she was going to lose me, too.

Ever since Dad's death three years ago, my mother had thrown herself into her work and became a workaholic. She was not home often, and when she was, she often locked herself in her room and cried. But that all changed last year, when she realised that I needed her as well, she realised that if there was a chance that I would get reaped, she needed to spend as much time with me as possible.

She tries, she really does, to connect with me somehow and to try to offer me some type of comfort that I didn't really need. But that's the thing, I didn't need comfort, I just need reassurance that she won't leave my life again. 

What happens if I haven't been reaped by the time I'm over 18? Would she forget about me and grieve over Dad again?

"Clarke?" My mother's voice echoed down the hall, snapping me out of my miserable thoughts. "Dinner will be done in a few. You should probably wash your hands before that, though."

My eyes wandered to my hands, where the chalk I held in my palm were crushed into bits.

I didn't even remember closing my fist.

Letting the chalk bits fall through my fingers onto my sketchbook, I headed towards the bathroom to wash up the remainder of the chalk dust left on my hand.

*************************

**District 8: Bellamy Blake**

"Bellamy?" A trembling voice asked from the doorway, and I immediately knew it was Octavia.

She had a nightmare again.

I instantly opened my arms towards my little sister, and she threw herself into them. She held me tightly, as if she was scared she was going to lose me if she let go.

And maybe that's true.

If my name gets called out in the reaping this year. 

If it doesn't, then I'm one of the lucky ones. My name wouldn't be in the Reaping Balls anymore, and I would be free from the possibility of my name being drawn.

But Octavia wouldn't. She wouldn't be free from that possibility, not for three more years anyway.

"O?" I whispered into her hair.

She hummed in question, sniffling slightly.

"You alright?"

Octavia shook her head in return. "No, I'm not 'alright'." She pulled away, wiping furiously at the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. "I hate this. I hate _all_ of this. I hate the Hunger Games, I hate President Jaha, I hate living with the threat that my name could be drawn for reaping this year, or next year or the year _after_ that. Why is this happening? What did any of us do wrong? Why are we forced to live like this? I just- I don't understand!"

I sighed, pulling her back into a hug. "I don't know, Octavia. I don't think any of us understand either." I kissed the crown of her head, "But you need to understand that no matter what, I'll be there to protect you. I promise."

Octavia shook her head, pulling away again. "Bell, what about you? What if you get reaped? What if it's your name that they read out when they draw the male tributes' names?"

I rolled my eyes, forcing a smile on my lips. "My name won't be called. I'm sure of it." I paused, looking at her in the eyes. "And neither will yours."

Whether it's true or false, I'm not sure.

I guess that's why there's a thing called hope.

*************************

**District 6: Raven Reyes**

His fingers were unusually soft compared to mine, despite the fact that he works with engines everyday.

I was a little jealous, but whenever he kissed the tips of my fingers, I'd feel butterflies and completely forget about everything. 

Everything except the Games.

And maybe that should be a good thing; I shouldn't forget about something that's so life-threatening.

But I hate being haunted by the thought of it; the death and gory and fear.

I'm haunted by the fact that I could be part of all of that because of a slip of paper that has my name on it.

I'm haunted by the fact that I could lose everything and everyone if my name gets drawn. 

I'm haunted by the fact that if my name doesn't get called, there's still a chance that his name will get called. And I don't want to lose him. Not yet. Not ever.

"Raven?" His voice was husky, and both soothing and exciting. "What're you thinking of in that pretty head of yours?"

"Nothing." I whispered, my breath fanning over his chest as my fingers danced along his abdomen. " _Everything_."

"By 'everything', do you mean the Hunger Games?" 

I almost smiled at the fact that he could read my mind so clearly. "How did you know?"

"It would be weird if your _weren't_ thinking about the Games." Finn gave a fake shudder, a grin forming on his face. "What about the Games were you thinking of?"

"The death." I replied bluntly, sitting up while pulling the sheets up to my bare chest. "How innocent people -no, _children_ \- die just like _that_." I snapped my fingers to prove my point.

Finn chewed on his bottom lip, before lifting himself by his elbows. "We can't do anything about that, though." He moved his head forward, grazing his lips against mine. "Let's just enjoy our moments together while we can."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, shaking my head. "Let's not think like that."

He hummed in response, agreeing, before pushing forward and capturing his lips against my own. Finn pulled my down on top of him, our bare chests touching, our tongues dancing.

And for the first time, I forgot.

*************************

**District 3: Monty Green**

"Harper, what on earth are you doing?" I laughed, staring up at my best friend.

"What do you think, stupid?" She threw down a bright red apple, not even checking if I caught it. I did. "You think we could get arrested for this?"

"Yes." I smirked, taking a bite out of the apple. "You want some?"

"Nah." She replied, grabbing another apple before jumping off the branch, only to fall back as soon as her feet hit the ground. 

I stepped towards her, scared that she injured herself, but she just waved me off.

"I'm fine." She pushed herself up, grabbing the apple that she had dropped. "I'm a tough girl, remember?" She winked jokingly at me.

I rolled my eyes in return, spinning around to walk back towards her house. "My mother's going to kill me once she finds out that you sneaked out again."

"I don't really think you can call it 'sneaking out'." Harper snorted, jogging up beside me. "The tree's literally outside the fence, and the branches are hanging over our backyard. I could reach up and snag an apple from the tree."

I snorted, "Yet you chose to climb over the fence -which, let's not forget, is electrified- just so that you can climb that tree for apples." I took another bite of the apple.

Harper nudged her shoulder against mine, "The best and more ripe apples are at the top of the tree, on the other side." She took a bite, the juices squirting slightly when her teeth sunk into the skin. "I had no other choice."

I rolled my eyes again.

"If you say so."

"And anyway..." Harper sighed, staring at the apple. "It might be the last time I eat an apple from my district." 

I pursed my lips together, not saying anything, before taking a bite out of the freshly ripe apple.

*************************

**The Capitol: Wells Jaha**

Nightmares are by far one of the worst experiences that I've faced in my life.

Nightmares where my mother is standing there in front of me one second, and bleeding out on the ground the next. Nightmares where she's singing me a lullaby, and then suddenly gasping for air.

They always end with me waking up in a cold sweat, screaming and crying.

I always expect my mother to rush into my room and calm me, but then I realise she's gone and nobody's coming.

Not even my father.

And that leads to the possibility of an even worst experience; The Hunger Games.

A televised battle between kids of the ages between 12 to 18, where they are forced to kill each other until one person remains standing. Then, that person is crowned the Victor and lives with luxury and fame for the rest of their life.

I wonder if the previous Victors are ever haunted by the deaths of the other tributes, because I know for certain that if I were to be in the games and if I had remained the last person standing, I'd never be able to forgive myself for everybody's death.

I guess, in a way, I can thank my father for that. For the death of thousands of innocent children, and the misery of the remaining tributes.

But I won't blame my father. Not much anyway.

After all, I couldn't blame him for my mother's death. Even if I oh-so-badly wanted to.

But what I can blame my father for is forcing 100 kids into an arena to fight 'till death until only 24 remain.

Like they had said back then and like they say now; _**may the odds be ever in your favour**_.


	2. "Just Come Back To Me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish it wasn't real, too, Mom. 
> 
> But it is.
> 
> I'm sorry.

**District 2: Clarke Griffin**

My mother always insisted on getting me ready an hour before the Reaping despite the fact that I could've gotten ready and be on time for the ceremony all in half an hour.

Still, I went with it. I didn't want to argue with her when there's a chance that it might be the last time I see her.

"How do you like the dress?" She asked, a smile on her face as the corners of her eyes wrinkle.

I tilted my head, my hands stuck to my side as I swayed in the dress. "It's pretty." I told her. That's all I ever told her whenever she asked every year.

Mom smiled, nodding before stepping forward. "I bought it just yesterday." She pulled my hair over my shoulders, brushing the straight blonde locks as I stood still, watching our reflection.

"You shouldn't have." I told her.

"I know. But I wanted to."

I sighed, pulling away from her. "We should go now." I glanced at the clock on the wall.

9:50 A.M. In ten minutes, the Reaping ceremony starts.

"Okay." Mom replied, nodding.

We arrived in the middle of the town, where already hundreds of kids were lining up to get their names marked off and their fingers pricked.

I turned to my mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek before heading towards where the other 17 year old girls lined up. I glanced back, watching my mother as she turned to walk to where the rest of the parents are on the other side of the roped-off areas.

I sighed, turning back when I heard the lady call out 'next'. 

I didn't even bother to flinch when she pricked my finger, asked for my name and yelled 'next'. I turned to the right, heading towards where the rest of the girls stood.

I counted up to 6 minutes in my head before everyone had their names marked off and were silently waiting for the escort to arrive.

We all watched as a woman in the most dangerously high heels walked onto the stage. 

As the cameras zoomed in on her face, I realised that she wore long curly blue eyelashes and sparkly silver eye shadow, making her bright blue irises pop. She smiled, her pale blue lips stretching out as she exposed her rows of straight, white teeth.

She does the introduction, proudly exclaiming 'Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!', and begins to walk over the glass balls filled with the girls' names. She reaches her hand in, gently pulling a slip of paper out using her long silver nails before clearing her throat. She lifts the microphone in her hands to her lips, her eyes on the paper.

We all hold our breaths.

"Emily Baker."

I see a few heads turn, but don't bother looking in the same direction. I just stare up at the screen, where I see the camera had focused on a little girl with a grey bow in her hair.

I see her trembling bottom lip, and how she looks around with fear in her eyes. I see somebody push her forward, and she takes a step towards the stairs, where the escort gestures for her to hurry up.

By the time Emily is on the stage, looking out at us, nobody has raised their hand to volunteer.

I hear the muffled cry of a mother as she calls out to Emily. 

The escort clears her throat to get everybody's attention, before reaching her hand into the glass ball and pulling out another slip of paper.

Another held breath. Another name called out. Another mother cries.

Then we were onto the last female tribute of District 2.

The escort does the same thing again, clears her throat, reaches her hand in, pulls out a slip of paper and raises the microphone to her lips. 

This time, though, the name that she calls out isn't just another name of a stranger. This time, the name she calls out actually makes me flinch. 

Because this time, the name she calls out is mine.

************************

_Deep breath. Take a deep breath. Don't show emotion. Don't freak out. Don't_ cry _._

I gulp, take a sharp breath as I stride towards the stage.

_Ignore the cameras. Don't look back. Keep looking forward. Don't reveal any sort of emotion._

The orders that I give myself seemed to calm me down a bit.

I wasn't going to freak out.

_Don't look at the screen. Don't look at the camera. Don't show any emotion._

One glance up at the screen told me I failed to not show emotion. In that second that I watch myself, I saw that I was very pale, my eyes revealing the fact that I was terrified, and my bottom lip was trapped between my teeth.

I walked up the stairs, and stood next to the other two District 2 female tributes.

Everybody looked smaller from up here, but I could still clearly see my mother at the back.

She was muffling her cries underneath her hands, shaking her head disbelievingly as she shut her eyes.

_I wish it wasn't real, too, Mom._

_But it is._

_I'm sorry._

************************

I sat in a fancy room at the Justice Building, waiting patiently for my mother.

_25...26...27...28...29...30...31...32...33-_

The door swings open, and my mother runs towards me. I immediately stand up, my arms wrapping around her as she pulled me close.

She's sniffling, gasping for air as she cries.

I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to let any tears fall.

_Don't show weakness._

Not even a second later, a whimper escapes my lip and suddenly I'm crying with my mother, holding onto each other for as long as possible.

She pulls away suddenly, hands on my shoulder as her blue eyes stare into mine. "Clarke, honey, you have to listen to me, okay?" She sniffs, her eyes searching my face. I give her a nod. "Marcus Kane, you're mentor, you have to listen to him, okay? Do whatever he tells you. Listen to him because he's gonna keep you alive, got it? Do you understand?"

I give her a nod despite my confusion, pulling her back into a hug. "Mom, I don't want die."

She hugs me back, her arms tightening around me. "You won't. Marcus will make sure of it, as long as you listen and do whatever he tells you." She lets out a sob, "Just please do whatever you need to come back to me. I can't lose you, too."

We held each other, not wanting to let go, but the doors open and suddenly, my mother's arms aren't around me anymore. Suddenly the warmth and comfort is gone.

"No. Mom!" I called out as the Peacekeepers pull my mother away. My voice cracks as my vision blurs, "Mom!"

"Listen to him, Clarke! Please, just come back to me." She cries, tears streaming down her face. "Just come back to me."

The doors shut.

And I'm alone again.

 

 


	3. A Little Too Hopeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was so close. She was so close to being free from the Hunger Games.
> 
> And then she wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really crappy chapter, but I'll try harder for next chapter. I'm literally making most of this up as I go, so sorry!

**District 3: Harper**

I wasn't even that surprised when Edith called my name out for the tributes.

Honestly, why would the Capitol let anyone be free from the Games? Like I said, I wasn't surprised. 

Sure, I hoped -God, _I hoped so, so badly_ \- that I would be one of the few lucky ones that the Capitol would let go of. I knew I was a little too hopeful, too assured that my name would not get called out, but I couldn't help it. Ever since my older sister was Reaped four years ago, ever since her death, I was always confident that I would never get chosen. Because that would seem a little strange, wouldn't it? A member of the same family chosen in two different Reapings. It would seem too much of a coincident, honestly, and it would be awfully suspicious.

But of course, the Capitol plays by its own rule.

And maybe it's karma, maybe it's pay-back for that one time my deceased grandparents spoke against the Capitol a few decades back, or maybe it _was_ just a coincident. Maybe my name was just _picked_ , and there was no real reason behind it because that would make sense too.

Either way, I was proven wrong. I wasn't allowed to go on with life; I'm not allowed to be free from all of this. No, instead, I'll just be facing off with ninety-nine other children, fighting to be one of the twenty-four tributes that are lucky enough to _live_. And then maybe, _just maybe_ , I'll be free. But obviously the world has something against me, because after the female tribute names were called out, Edith reached her hand in the stupid glass ball and picked a male tribute.

In the space of time when I was pitying myself, I had completely forgotten about the only other person that I hoped would also be free from the Hunger Games. I had forgotten that there was someone I truly cared about until his name was called out

And I just knew that the Capitol hated me. I knew the world hated me. 

Because Monty Green is the the name of the first male tribute for District 3.

************************

**District 3: Monty Green**

She was so close. She was _so damn close_ to being free from the Hunger Games.

And then she wasn't. 

Because this stupid, cruel world seems to hate her, and now she's going to have to go into the arena and face threats while trying to keep herself alive. 

And I wanted to help her, I do. But I knew she would never forgive me if I volunteered, because she would immediately assume that I'm doing it so that I can protect her -and she would be right, of course- but because she hates feeling weak and helpless, she'd probably never speak to me again. She would never forgive me because she knew that I would risk my life for her, and she'd never want me to do something like that, so she wouldn't talk to me again.

And I can't have that. 

So when my name was called out, I was kind of grateful. I would be able to keep Harper safe without her hating me. And maybe, _just maybe_ , we'll both be able to live.

And maybe my best friend might be free from this hell-hole called Panem.

************************

She had thrown her arms around me as soon as the doors of the Justice Building closed behind us.

I didn't hesitate in returning the hug, my arms tightening around her when I felt her tuck her head in between my neck and shoulder.

"Why is this happening to us?" Harper whispered. "I hate this. I hate this _so much_."

"Me, too." I murmured into her hair, not knowing how else I could comfort her without saying 'everything's going to be okay' because I knew everything was not going to be okay.

Not when the Hunger Games was involved. 


	4. "I Volunteer As Tribute!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then suddenly I was shoving people past, pushing towards the front with my heart in my throat.
> 
> "I volunteer!" I yelled, my breath laboured as I stared straight at Viola. "I volunteer as tribute!"

**District 8: Octavia Blake**

My brother was a nervous-wreck. He kept saying 'I have a bad feeling about today', but I always brushed him off. Bellamy always says that on the days of the Reaping, so it wasn't anything new. But still, something inside me stirred whenever I thought of the Reaping. It's not because I'm disgusted or anything; I just feel weird thinking about it. I feel like something bad is really going to happen today.

I don't know. Maybe Bellamy's just getting to me.

Yeah, that must be it.

"Octavia?" My mother's voice called down the hall. "Are you ready? We have to be at the Reaping in five minutes' time."

"Yes, I'll be finished in a second!" I told her, tightening the front laces of my dress.

It was honestly one of the most beautiful dresses my mother has ever made, made out of a soft yellow fabric and lace sleeves. I've seen quite a lot of fancy dresses that my mother makes for the people of the Capitol, but this is probably one of my favourites by far. But even while thinking this, I knew it was illegal. Making dresses for yourself or for personal matters without the consent of an official is against the law. And, well... my mother doesn't have the consent of any officials. If she were to get caught, she'd be arrested.

"Octavia!" My mother's voice snapped me out of my thoughts once again. "We have to leave right now!"

"Alright, I'm done," I told her, tying my laces into a neat bow before running out of my bedroom. My bare feet slapped the wooden floor, the sound echoing through the corridor. 

Mom was waiting at the end, tapping her foot impatiently. "We're going to be late now." 

"No, we won't," Bellamy replied, stepping out of our tiny kitchen, "if we run, we can make it in time."

I quickly slipped on my old, torn ballet flats and shrugged on my favourite black cardigan, worn out from its use. "Then let's go!" I threw the door open and bolted out, not bothering to check of my Mom or brother was behind me. (They are.) "Come on, you slowpokes!"

"'Slowpokes'?" Mom laughed behind me, struggling to keep up with me. "You shouldn't talk."

I threw a grin at her over my shoulder and sped up, rounding the corner to where the Reaping ceremony was going to take place in front of the Justice Building. Only a few kids remained in their age lines; the rest were waiting patiently for our escort and our mayor to arrive. 

I turned to my brother and mother. "I'll see you after the ceremony, okay?" I didn't wait for a reply, turning around and joining the end of the line for 15 year-old girls. Not even a minute later, I was done getting my finger pricked for identification and my name was marked off. I stood with the rest of the 15-year-old females, waiting for Viola -our District's escort- and the mayor, Mr Grant Rollins, to arrive. 

I stood with the rest of the 15-year-old females, waiting for Viola -our District's escort- and the mayor, Mr Grant Rollins, to arrive. 

I could see my mother standing with the other parents on the sideline, and in the corner of my eyes, I could see Bellamy's tall figure standing with the rest of the 18-year-old males. His posture was stiff and he stared straight ahead, probably zoning out or something.

"Hello, and welcome to the District 8's 245th Reaping Ceremony!"

My head turned to the stage, where the mayor and Viola stood side-by-side. Suddenly, I was feeling nervous again.

Mr Grant started the introduction, talking about why the Hunger Games was first formed. He talked about the First Rebellion and then about the Second Rebellion -also known as The Mockingjay Revolution- and then went on to talk about the recommencement of the Hunger Games made by Jerome Jaha a hundred and twenty-five years ago.

I rolled my eyes as I listened to him go on and on, tuning him out after he mentioned our old deceased president's name. Jerome Jaha was a monster for bringing back the Hunger Games again, and the citizens of Panem were stupid for electing him as president. Well, now, they have to suffer through the deaths of their loved ones, and it's their fault. I hope karma got to everyone who voted for Jerome Jaha.

Viola stepped forward after Mr Grant finished his introduction. She had a smile on her lips, the bright pink lipstick not even the slightest bit out of her lip line. "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!" She said her line with the same amount of enthusiasm as she does every year. "As usual, ladies first." She turned, dipping her hand into the ball and taking out a slip of paper. 

Slowly, she unfolded the slip of paper and turned back to the audience. She moved her lip closer to the microphone so that we could hear clearer, despite the fact we could probably hear fine even if she muttered it. That's how loud the speakers were.

"Zoe Monroe," Viola said before looking out into the audience. "Zoe Monroe?"

I saw people turn their heads, and I did the same, curious as to see who the first female tribute was.

She was a short girl with red hair and green eyes that were so bright, I could see them from where I was.

"Ah, there you are!" Viola announced with a bright smile on her lips. She gestured to Zoe to move forward, "hurry now. We have to announce the other tributes, too, remember?"

Zoe took a step forward, but didn't move any further.

I watched as two Peacekeepers moved towards her, probably not having enough patience since all of this was being aired to all of Panem right now. Zoe seemed to realise that, too, because her eyes widened in fear and she began walking towards the stage. The two Peacekeepers walked alongside her, as if guarding her. Or making sure she didn't try to escape.

Our escort reaches her hand into the glass ball as soon as Zoe is standing beside her on the stage and cleared her throat before announcing the second female tribute's name. "Mel Mannings."

"No." The girl next to me whispered. " _No_."

I turned my head, surprised. 

She was staring wide-eyed at the stage, tears forming as she took in small, hurried breaths. 

_Was she Mel?_

I could see many people turning towards her, some making a clear path for her while others continued to stare. The girl didn't seem to take any notice, only staring at the ground as she clenched her hands into fists by her side.

"Hey..." I grab her arm as gently as possible, "are you okay?"

She shook her head, letting out a small gasp. I saw tears fall onto the ground, and I knew she was crying, but I had no idea what to. When I looked up, I saw people give her pity stares.

I knew that if I was on the receiving end of those pity, I'd hate it.

I kneeled down slightly so that I could see her better. "Hey.." I whispered, staring into her dark brown eyes. "Mel, right? Don't cry. You can't show them weakness, do you understand?"

She sniffed, shutting her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "I don't want to, but-but...." Her hands were shaking by her side, still in fists. "I'm just a kid.... I don't want to kill people. I don't want to kill anyone."

I sighed inaudibly, nodding. "I know. I'm sure nobody does." I told her, "But you can't cry. Not for them. By crying, you're entertaining the people of the Capitol. This is entertainment to them, and the longer it takes for you to get up on that stage and the longer it takes for you to stop crying, the more interested they will be. Your weakness -your tears- are entertaining to them. And you shouldn't entertain them, you _can't_ entertain them, so stop crying. Okay?"

I reached my hand up to wipe away her tears, and she doesn't pull away. She wiped the rest away as fast as she could before straightening herself. I stand too, before watching her as she walked towards the stage.

From the large screen, I could see that her eyes were still puffy and bright red from crying, but she had a determined expression on, and that was all that mattered. Mel hesitated at the foot of stairs, then she looked back to me. After giving her a nod, she turned her head around and began walking up the stairs with more confidence. 

Viola smiled at Mel and gestured for her to stand beside Zoe. And then she was, once again, reaching her hand into the female tributes' bowl again. 

She stepped over to the microphone, a smile still on her face, before speaking into the microphone. "And the name of our last female tribute is," Viola read the slip of paper, a smile appearing on her lips again. "Octavia Blake."

************************

**District 8: Bellamy Blake**

The world seemed to have stopped.

One moment, I was watching my sister comfort the second female tribute, and then the next, my sister _was_ a tribute.

My mind was frozen, unsure of what to think. I couldn't process any of what happened until the cameras zoomed in on Octavia's face. And then it hit me, it _really_ hit me; Octavia, my baby sister, was a tribute, and she was now going to be part of the Hunger Games.

And then I knew, as soon as I realised that, that I had to protect her. I just..... didn't know how.

"Octavia?" Our escort, Viola, repeated my little sister's name into the microphone. "Octavia Blake? Where are you?"

I could see a few of the boys around me turn and look in my direction, giving me pitying looks, while some of the boys looked over at the girls' side, probably waiting for Octavia to get on the stage.

I saw her figure move forward with determination, passing the other girls who made way for her, not looking back and not looking afraid. She didn't looked at the cameras, but they focused on her anyway, wanting to record every detail of the young girl who's stride was full of tranquillity.

But she was afraid. I could tell from the white of her knuckles as she clenched her hands into fists and the way her eyes began to wander over to the cameras as she neared the stage. She was afraid, but was hell-bent on hiding her fear from the cameras and the citizens of Panem. Octavia didn't hesitate the slightest at the foot of the stairs, only making her way up in the same steady pace and for a split second, she looked up at the screen where it was broadcasting her face. And you could practically see the realisation hitting her; the realisation that she was a tribute, that she was Reaped, that she was in the Hunger Games now. 

And then she looked away and continued up the stairs until she was standing next to that Mel girl. Octavia didn't look down at the crowd, only interested in staring at her shoes, as our escort announced the male tributes' names.

I could barely concentrate on the first few three names of the male tributes; all I knew was, as I stared at my little sister, that if I were to protect Octavia, I had to do it fast.

So when Viola called out the name of our last male tribute, I felt confused and panicked, not realising time had passed so quickly as I was deep in thought. 

 _I have to do something_ , I thought as everyone waited for the late male tribute to walk up the stair _. God, Bellamy, do something! Do something already!_

Then suddenly I was shoving people past, pushing towards the front with my heart in my throat.

"I volunteer!" I yelled, my breath laboured as I stared straight at Viola. "I volunteer as tribute!"

 


End file.
